An American Original - 1959 Rambler Cross Country
A lifelong quest yields a 1959 Rambler Cross Country Super station wagon
09/23/2018
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Classics
American Motors had a history-making year of sales in 1959. There were four basic model ranges: American, Rambler Six, Rebel and Ambassador. In the Rambler Six line, AMC bequeathed a simple new eggcrate grille with a gap between the grille and the hood where "RAMBLER" was spelled out in stand-up block letters. The Six line was further divided into Deluxe, Super and Custom levels in ascending order of trim. Supers, like our feature car's Cross Country, were distinguished by a script callout in the rear door near the tip of the missile-shaped side trim spear. The Super Cross Country turned out to be the second-most-popular model in the Rambler Six range, with 66,739 examples produced, topped only by the Super four-door sedan, which rang up 72,577 sales units in 1959.
Power came from American Motors' base engine, a cast-iron straight-six with OHV architecture. It displaced 195.6 cubic inches and boasted a robust compression ratio of 8.7:1. That translated into 127 horsepower at 4,200 RPM, the solid-lifter engine being fed by a single-barrel Carter Type YF-2014S carburetor. The transmission is a three-speed manual, backed up with overdrive.
Cross Country cabin dwellers benefit from excellent visibility all around and a commanding driver's position. The pull knob that activates the optional overdrive is out of view. Note the tight positioning of the instrument cluster, right in the driver's view.
Back in the late 1950s, station wagons such as this distinctive-looking Rambler were immensely popular with growing families of the postwar baby boom. North Merrick, on New York's Long Island, isn't far from the original Levittown. You know, neat tract homes that date from just after the end of World War II. The houses are commonly small, sitting on little lots, mostly ranches and capes. It was the ideal time and place to own a station wagon, the kind of car into which you could bundle the brood and head for the mountains or the seacoast. In 1959, Kevin Costanzo's family was one of thousands on Long Island that had a wagon proudly sitting in the driveway of their little piece of America.
What's unusual was, it was a Rambler. Not as unusual as you might first think, though. After all, 1959 was the year that American Motors Corporation built and sold 386,414 new automobiles, a record performance year for an independent manufacturer, and the highest annual sales total ever achieved by any independent in industry history. That same year, AMC president George Romney got his face on the cover of Time magazine, which lauded him for his commitment to smaller, less-dramatic cars that were more economical to buy and operate.
Kevin grew up, moved to Florida and today operates a limousine service in and around West Palm Beach. We discovered his Cross Country wagon at a regional car show there, certainly a rare sight today. Preserved and restored station wagons of any ilk are uncommon to find because, by and large, they were beaten into oblivion by their loving owners. Most headed straight to the salvage yard. There are exceptions, of course, and this is one of them, made all the more unusual because it comes from outside the Big Three. Kevin is big into cars--he owns a hot-rodded Ford T-bucket--but he was insistent that one day, his collection would include a restored 1959 Rambler wagon.
"First of all, when I was a child, about three years old, my mom and dad owned this exact kind of car, and I always wanted one once I got into collecting. I decided I wanted to get a Rambler wagon. Everybody said I was crazy, said they didn't make many of them and so forth and so on. But I still wanted one, and I started looking. What I originally wanted to do was to find a car in Arizona because I knew there'd really be no rust, so I started looking there. Then I got a call from a friend of mine who told me, 'Hey, I found a car for you. It's in Orlando.' That's about 2½ hours from here. So I called the guy, and it turns out that he had bought the car in Arizona and then brought it back here to Florida. He brought it back to restore it for his kid, but the job just became too overwhelming for him, and he decided to sell it. So I'm getting ready to go up there and see the car and the guy tells me his name is Constantino. Well, my dad was named Constantino, too. I'm getting goose bumps here. I drove up to Orlando, looked the Rambler over and bought it on the spot."
Back in West Palm Beach, the restoration process took about a year. For a goodly portion of that time, Kevin sat at his computer, searching hard for NOS parts to complete the job, although having been an Arizona car for most of its existence, rust wasn't a major problem on the Cross Country. "Even though I had everything for the car, like the headlamp bezels and lenses, I was still on the computer three or four times a day, and you wouldn't believe the stuff I found. I had parts coming in from Norway, new emergency-brake cables. So everything's new on the car. And everything I bought was NOS; I didn't want to buy anything used."
For instance, Kevin managed to find some fabric bolts of original 1959 American Motors seat upholstery from a supplier of vintage upholstery in Ohio, going only from his memory of the patterns on the caramel-colored seats in his parents' station wagon. Networking was crucial to locate the necessary components. "I found a guy whose parents had owned five AMC dealerships, and when they died, he was looking to sell everything online. I got some unbelievable stuff from him. It's all from working the phones and the emails. The guy you contact at first may not have what you're looking for, but especially with the AMC people, he'll put you in touch with somebody who has whatever you want plus a lot more than that. It's really amazing."
We're fond of saying that this world of ours is all about happy childhood memories. Kevin took that notion a step further by doing the color scheme and interior work totally from memory--by that, we mean that he wanted to replicate the Autumn Yellow paint finish and the candy-colored interior to get the correct tonal appearance of the car's hues to resemble his parents' Cross Country back in North Merrick. When he first bought the car, it was crudely finished in pink and white, but when he received the title in the mail, he read it over and noticed that it had been originally finished in ... wait for it ... Autumn Yellow. "Between the guy being named Constantino and the car having been yellow, there were just all kinds of spooky things about this," he recalls.
Rust, to be sure, was largely off the problem list. The most significant that Kevin can recall is the lower outside edge of the tailgate, where the corrosion was sliced away and replaced with welded-in patch panels, with no body filler used. The interior and all its padding, however, were destroyed by solar radiation. We ought to point out here that this was Kevin's first restoration project. "I won't do it again. This was my last restoration, too," he laughs. "I think it was the most enjoyable thing I've ever done, not just me but the people who worked with me, like the guy who helped out with the interior work or my buddy who owns the body shop, he kept saying, 'You're crazy, you're crazy,' but all of them got right into it when we got started, and they all worked from the heart, once they knew the story behind this car."
The Rambler's unitized bodywork was handled by Hector Santana at Tropical Auto Body in West Palm Beach. Once the bodywork was done, Kevin had the bumpers and other trim pieces rechromed at Sunshine Polishing in Miami. The moldings on the Cross Country are made from stainless steel; Kevin hand-buffed them to a chrome-like gleam. The engine came off the frame for probably the first time ever, and was rebuilt to full stock specifications and displacement by Engine Rebuilders of West Palm Beach, even to the point of being repainted in the original Battleship Gray. Kevin recalls that the process of reattaching the myriad pieces of trim to the body required weeks of effort, if not months.
Since the restoration was completed, Kevin began searching for a second late-Fifties Rambler station wagon--not for himself, but for Sergio Morales, who handled all the interior work on Kevin's Cross Country at his shop, S&S Auto Tops in West Palm Beach. Kevin went back online and began the hunt because Sergio was so smitten with the Cross Country that he wanted one for himself. The virtual journey led Kevin to Brooklyn, New York, and the station wagon he found there, in his own words, was "a real rustbucket." Kevin and Sergio had to make their own rotisserie so the perforated wagon could be inverted and body repairs begun.
Any project of this magnitude is going to involve easy steps that are like fielding ground balls, and maddening quests for parts that threaten to hold up the entire show. In the case of the Cross Country, we asked Kevin what was the hardest component to find. In 1959, Ramblers could be optioned with the Flash-O-Matic, pushbutton-operated automatic transmission. If you had a manual or manual-overdrive car like Kevin's, the factory installed a small blocking plate on the dashboard to cover the opening where the transmission pushbuttons would ordinarily go. "It was just a little aluminum plate that went over the hole in the dash. This one had a pushbutton in the middle of it for the horn, and I had a friend make me a replacement plate. That was one thing. The other was that when you look down the tailfin, right above the running lights, there's a little round red reflector on each side. I went online and managed to find two brand-new ones. I haven't seen any since then."
Another rarity was the swiveling, under-dash tissue dispenser. You reach down, turn it sideways, retrieve a tissue and daub at your sniffles. They're very hard to find today. "I'll tell you, that component alone cost me $300," he says.
As to that overdrive transmission, Kevin explains: "There's a little knob underneath the dashboard that you pull out to activate it. I basically leave it pulled out all the time. Then once you're in third gear, you lift off the gas a little bit, then press down again and the overdrive kicks in."
Kevin reckons that he drives his Cross Country wagon every couple of weeks, not sticking to a particular level of annual mileage. There's probably no real need to run up the odometer, because without fail, every time Kevin shows it, he's swamped with inquiries or just plain memories delivered with a smile. This is a long way from an everyday cruise-in regular. It's a late-Fifties Rambler and a rarely seen station wagon model, to boot. People tend to drift around it as if levitated by some unknown gravitational force. They may have not grown up on Long Island, but if they're out of suburbia from anywhere during the Levittown years, they've got a Rambler story. Maybe it's not about a Cross Country, but somebody they knew and remember owned a Rebel, or an Ambassador, or perhaps a wee Rambler American.
"It's not a few people, it's everybody," Kevin explains. "It's always, 'I learned to drive on a car like this,' or "My grandmother had a car like this,' or 'My uncle had one of these station wagons and we used to go on vacations in it during the summertime.' Everybody has a story. I've never seen so much attention paid to a car as this one gets from the public. It happens wherever I go. It's so rare, you'll never see one at a car show."
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Images from Pat Foster's collection
Courtesy of Pat Foster
One of the first products of the Mitchell Motor Car Company was the small runabout seen here. Although the photo is identified as a 1903 model it appears to be of later vintage, possibly 1904/1905.
The Mitchell saga began in 1838 when Scottish immigrant Henry Mitchell moved to Kenosha, Wisconsin, and established the Mitchell Wagon Company, a manufacturer that became known as "The first wagon maker of the Northwest." Successful almost from the start, in 1854 Mitchell moved his business to larger quarters in nearby Racine. It continued to expand and in time son-in-law William Lewis joined the company. Lewis eventually headed the firm and changed its name to Mitchell & Lewis Wagon Company. During the Gay Nineties, Mitchell & Lewis established another business, the Wisconsin Wheel Works, to produce bicycles, and for a while was manufacturing light motorcycles too. Thus,established in the transportation field, the idea of producing automobiles was the next logical step.
In a major change of company direction, Wisconsin Wheel Works sold its bicycle business and was succeeded by the Mitchell Motor Car Company, a subsidiary of the Mitchell-Lewis Wagon Company. The former’s first models were two small runabouts: one powered by a 7-hp, single-cylinder two-stroke engine, the other by a 4-hp, four-stroke single. Reportedly, sales were modest, despite prices that began at a mere $600 for the 4-hp model. It seems the company initially had difficulty reaching high-volume production due to problems acquiring sufficient parts and components, but when resolved sales quickly improved.
For 1904 a new 7-hp two-cylinder runabout on a 72-inch wheelbase chassis, and a 16-hp four-cylinder touring model on a 90-inch wheelbase, replaced the previous one-lungers. The two-passenger runabout was priced at $750, while the five-passenger touring car started at $1,500.
Courtesy of Pat Foster
Mitchell’s 1910 cars were priced from $1,100 to $2,000. The company said of its car, “It is rakish, smart, refined, solid, comfortable and luxurious. It is silent in running – absolutely silent – and it will last and serve you faithfully for years to come.”
In the years that followed Mitchell cars grew bigger and more powerful. In 1906 a 24/30-hp five-passenger, 100-inch wheelbase Model D-4 Touring car joined the expanded line-up priced at $1,800. The company reportedly sold 663 cars that year. For 1907 Mitchell offered three distinct series: the Model E, a 20-hp two-passenger Runabout on a 90-inch wheelbase; the Model D 24/30-hp five-passenger 100-inch wheelbase Touring; and the Model F seven-passenger Touring on a 108-inch wheelbase. Prices ranged from $1,000 to $2,000 and total sales more than doubled.
By 1910, Mitchell was offering five models: two- and three-passenger runabouts and a Runabout Surrey in the Model R series, each powered by a 30-hp four-cylinder engine and priced at $1,100; and two touring cars, a 30-hp four-cylinder Model T for $1,350, and a 50-hp six-cylinder Model S priced at a lofty $2,000. That year’s sales totaled 5,733 units. (There was even a jaunty little song titled "Give Me a Spin in Your Mitchell, Bill,” a recording of which can still be found on the internet.) The same year, Lewis retired, and Mitchell Motor Car Company and Mitchell & Lewis merged to form the Mitchell-Lewis Motor Company with Lewis’s son,William Mitchell Lewis, named president.
In 1912 a stylish $2,500 four-cylinder Limousine joined a line-up that included a budget-priced 25-hp Runabout for $950 and an $1,150 Touring car, both of which used a four-cylinder engine and a 100-inch wheelbase chassis. Also available was a $1,350 four-cylinder Touring, while a Model 5-6 34-hp Baby Six Touring and Roadster were available on a 125-inch wheelbase, each costing $1.750. Finally, there was a big seven-passenger Model 7-6 six-cylinder Touring on a regal 135-inch wheelbase for $2,250. Sales for the year were 5,145 cars.
Courtesy of Pat Foster
The Mitchell line of six-cylinder cars for 1917 saw lower prices, with the Mitchell seven-passenger priced at $1,460 and the Mitchell Junior priced at $1,150.
Unfortunately, sales were just 3,087 cars in 1913 and William M Lewis left the firm to start a new company building the so-called Lewis car. Banker Joseph Winterbottom took over as president and the firm was reorganized as the Mitchell Motors Company. Only 3,500 Mitchells were sold in 1914, perhaps a result of the company’s emphasis on higher-priced models. For 1915 new lower-priced Light Four and Light Six models seemed just the thing to spark a revival, and some 6,174 Mitchells were sold that year.
Mitchell sales manager Otis Friend then took over as president. Believing that offering more cylinders was the way to go, for 1916 the company dropped its four-cylinder models in favor of value-priced six- and eight-cylinder cars. It was the right move; sales climbed to 9,589 units, its highest total yet.
The company continued to flourish, selling 10,069 cars in 1917, but in ‘18 Otis Friend left to start his own car company in Pontiac, Michigan. Replacing him was formerGeneral Electric executive D.C. Durland. Things initially went well, and by 1919, Mitchell prices ranged from $1,275 to $2,850; some 10,100 cars were sold. While the company was profitable, it seems management might have been feeling over-confident because for ‘20 it was decided new Mitchells would feature unique styling touches to help them stand out.
Sedans boasted unusual vee'd windshields, with a prominent forward-placed center post supporting angled side panes, and cowls featured a forward sweep on each side, very much in the style of expensive custom-built cars. The angle of the sweep didn’t match the angle of the windshield post, which gave the closed cars a slightly odd appearance. The biggest styling feature, one that was impossible to ignore, was a radiator that tilted back at a noticeable angle. Print advertisements bragged that "Future styling trends…" were "Forecasted by the new Mitchell design." Ads claimed, "These new Mitchell Sixes bring to motoring America its first accurate example of the coming style [and].... viewed from any angle–from inside or out - the effect is impressive."
Courtesy of Pat Foster
The 1920 Mitchell Touring car, to my eyes, looks a bit sporty with its sweptback radiator shell, but many buyers didn’t like it.
Looking at the 1920 Mitchells today it’s difficult to see any big styling problem. In fact, on Touring models the sweptback radiator adds to the sporty appeal, at least in my opinion. But on closed cars the different lines and angles of the split vee-d windshield post, cowl sweeps, and radiator shell offer too much visual conflict. Apparently, they must have seemed even more at odds with convention then because the ’20 models soon earned the nickname “The Drunken Mitchells.”
Pundits love to poke fun, so "The Drunken Mitchell” sobriquet stuck. It’s easy to guess what happened next. Sales fell 36 percent, with the slump worsening in 1921 when a mere 2,162 cars were sold, this even after a hasty restyle. The ’22 model year was about the same. Then in 1923 Mitchell sales collapsed entirely and only about 100 cars were sold. The company had come to the end of the line. Despite a history going back more than 80 years, Mitchell was gone by the end of 1923.
One company benefitted from Mitchell’s demise. In January 1924, the Nash Motors Company of Kenosha, needing more production capacity, acquired the Mitchell plant for $405,000.
Photography by Scotty Lachenauer
Photo by Scotty Lachenauer
Tim, a resident of West Deptford, New Jersey, is well versed in Buick’s Riviera legacy, thanks largely tohis dad, Gene Guarnere, who has had a penchant for the personal luxury car since he was a teen. “My dad has been into first generation Rivieras since he came home from Vietnam in 1967. That’s when he got his first ’64 to drive back and forth from South Philadelphia to Fort Dix, to finish his draft requirement,” Tim says.
Since then, Tim estimates his dad has owned too many Rivieras to count, through a combination of having driven, collected, parted out, and rebuilt many for resale. Though the Riviera nameplate lasted for eight generations of production, and thirty-six years as a standalone model, the 1963-’65 editions will always be Gene’s favorite. “There’s something about those Rivieras. There was really nothing like them on the market at the time,” Gene says.
The Riviera name had a long history with Buick. It first appeared in conjunction with the revolutionary true hardtop design unveiled within the 1949 Roadmaster lineup, the missing B-pillar ushering in “Riviera styling.” That design moniker evolved slightly through the mid-Fifties, provoking thoughts of elegant open road motoring for a modest price, and it even survived Buick’s model name revamp of ’59, when it became a trim level within the Electra 225 series though ’62.
Right about the time the dust was settling from the Buick renaming buzz, GM Advanced Styling guru Ned Nickles had already created a sketch of a new car that–according to later interviews with Nickles and GM Styling boss Bill Mitchell–was based on Mitchell’s foggy visit to London, where he spotted a custom-bodied Rolls-Royce in front of the Savoy hotel. Mitchell is famously quoted as saying, “make it a Ferrari-Rolls-Royce.”
Photo by Scotty Lachenauer
What makes this 1964 Buick Riviera desirable among collectors is the optional dual-quad 425-cu.in. V-8, which boasted 360 hp. It would become the foundation of Gran Sport option a year later.
Coincidentally, Cadillac was considering the introduction of a junior line to bolster sales, helping prompt the development of the XP-715 project (Mitchell is also quoted as saying GM didn’t take kindly to Ford attending the Motorama events to study concept cars, which lead to the four-seat Thunderbird, prompting development of the XP-715). Unofficially, it was dubbed La Salle II, but by the time a full-size clay mockup had been created, Cadillac had reversed its sales slump and was having trouble filling orders. It didn’t need a new car complicating matters.
The XP-715 might have been forgotten had Buick’s general manager Ed Rollert not learned of its unclaimed status. He made a pitch for the project but would have to fight for rights to it with Oldsmobile’s and Pontiac’s management. The latter was lukewarm on the idea of adding another series, while Olds wanted to modify the existing design, something Mitchell was deadset against. By April 1961, the XP-715 / La Salle II concept mockup was photographed wearing Buick emblems.
In the fall of 1962, Buick rolled out the Riviera on a new E-body platform. The car was a departure for Buick, with “knife edge” body lines, minimal trim, a Ferrari-like egg-crate style grille flanked by running lamps/signal indicators behind 1938-’39 inspired La Salle grilles, and kickups over the rear wheels designed to hint at the car’s power (helping conjure the “Coke bottle” design nomenclature). It was an amalgam of styles, fitting in somewhere between a sports car and luxury car, all rolled up in one breathtaking package.
Speaking of power, the Riviera was equipped with Buick’s four-barrel equipped 401-cu.in. V-8 that boasted 325 hp and 445 lb-ft. of torque, though in early December, the division started to offer the 340-hp, four-barrel 425-cu.in. engine as optional Riviera equipment. Just 2,601 examples of the latter were produced. Backing either engine Buick’s Twin Turbine Dynaflow automatic in its final year of production.
Photo by Scotty Lachenauer
Although the cabin is in dire need of detailing, it looks otherwise complete.
A year later, Buick management elevated the 340-hp, single four-barrel 425 engine to standard power team status, paired with a new Super Turbine 400 automatic transmission. Peppy as the engine was, a dual four-barrel version of the 425 became available, known as the “Super Wildcat.” Aside from its eye-opening 360 hp and 465 lb-ft. of torque, it looked the part of a performertoo, due to finned aluminum rocker covers and a twin-snorkel chrome air cleaner assembly. Despite its low production, only 2,122 of the 37,658 Rivieras built for ’64 came equipped as such, this engine became the cornerstone of Riviera’s Gran Sport package for ’65, cementing Buick’s legacy as a luxurious personal muscle car.
Although any first-gen Riviera is a great score to Tim and Gene, some examples are better than others, whether it was due to overall condition or the car’s born-with options. So, when this 1964 Riviera popped up on Gene’s radar 30-plus years ago, he quickly made a deal. “The history between my dad and this car is a long one. He first bought this car in northeast Philadelphia for $1,450 in the early Nineties,” Tim says.
The reason Gene wanted it more than any other that previously crossed his path was that not only was it in reasonably good shape, but the Buick also turned out to be one of the relatively rare dual-quad 425 examples. But like many of the Rivieras that came Gene’s way over the years, the Buick didn’t stick around too long. “The car was sold and/or traded multiple times for the first fifteen years my dad knew about it,” Tim says.
Photo by Scotty Lachenauer
However, like all good things, they somehow find their way home and this car is no exception. “For some reason, the Riviera always ended up with us some way or another. I finally ended up buying the car from the last owner in 2009. He had it stored in my dad’s barn during his ownership, so we knew it was in a safe place for a long time. I now have it tucked away in one of my garages waiting for the next phase in its lifeline.”
What Tim has in possession is an interesting example beyond the power team. “This Riviera is typical of the examples built in ’64. It’s just chock full of options that cater to the upscale buyers that would have had the funds to purchase one of these high-end rides from the dealership.”
Present within are many of the accoutrements that catered to the posh consumers in the luxury sports car market. Options here include the Deluxe vinyl and cloth interior, tilt column, and power seats. Power windows and power vent windows add to the lavishness of the Buick’s aesthetic, while its front seat belts, rear armrests, wood ornamentation, and rear defroster only add to the upscale feel.
Though it's seen better days, the condition of the interior is remarkable, knowing of its lengthy journey since it was taken off the road circa 1980. The upholstery is dirty and moldy but with a good washing it will probably clean up nicely. The dash is also in great shape, though since the V-8 has not been started in years, there’s no way to determine what gauges and switches are functional. Underneath the carpet, the floors are solid as well, owing to its life mostly indoors.
Photo by Scotty Lachenauer
The 1938-'39 La Salle grille is said to have inspired the Riviera's vertically stacked running lamp grilles.
Under the hood it looks as if the engine has barely been touched. It’s “KX” code stamped on the block is still visible, the original Carter carburetors are present, and the wiring and plumbing still appear usable. The air conditioning looks to be intact as well. Finally, power brakes and power steering round out the luxury amenities.
Outside, the body is in excellent shape for a car of this vintage. The last 30-plus years of indoor storage has helped keep the metal intact, though minor body work will be needed on the quarter panels to get it up to snuff. The original Claret Mist paint has turned to a satin finish under all the dirt, but a good cleaning and buff could bring it back to life. Most of the trim is also in great shape, and the car appears to be relatively complete, save for a few pieces of rear window trim.
As for the mechanical functionality beyond instrumentations, no one is really sure of its condition “My first order of business would be to send the engine to “Nailhead” Matt Martin in California, who is an artist that works in the nailhead medium; he’s the ultimate authority in these V-8s. I believe the rest of the car deserves a nut and bolt restoration, too. That time will come soon,” Tim says.
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